


In Dreams, Redemption

by Homicidal Whispers (HomicidalWhispers)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, Possessiveness, Protectiveness, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 12:25:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HomicidalWhispers/pseuds/Homicidal%20Whispers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over a decade ago, Eren was sold to the Arlert household as a slave. He got lucky; he had a kind Mistress and an uncaring Master.<br/>He exists, until his ill-advised romance with Armin, his masters's only child, is found out. He is willing to do whatever it takes to stay by Armin's side.<br/>They two dream of a future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Dreams, Redemption

“No!” Eren stiffens at the sound of the voice, accompanied by the sound of rapid footsteps from. “No, mom, no! It’s not what you think it is, I swear to you!”

“You, shut up!” Eren recognizes both voices. The first is Armin, his best friend and one of his only confidantes. The other is Adelaine, Armin’s mother, the person who hates him most in the world. Or, at least she would now, even if she had not before.

The doors to the guest room are flung open. Eren, on his hands and knees, drops the rag he had been using to scrub the floor. He rises to his knees, but keeps his head submissively lowered and avoids eye contact.

“Boy!”

Eren knows better than to ignore his mistress’s call. “Yes, Mistress,” he says.

In the beginning, such subservience had been difficult to acclimate himself to. In the years that had passed since he’d been sold, however, he’d learned than nothing good came from arguing. He’d learned how to keep his head down and his voice a careful monotone; he’d learned how to avoid looking anyone in the eyes, how to avoid voicing treasonous thoughts. He’d learned to be a good servant: a good slave.

“Stand up, boy.” Eren stands without a word. He is taller than Adelaine by several inches, but she keeps her back tall and her head held high. He, in contrast, rounds his shoulders and ducks his head until at times he could almost seem smaller than she.

Behind her, Armin doesn’t stop speaking, mumbling incomprehensibly with fear filling his eyes. “No, mom, I swear you’ve got it wrong – you’ve got it wrong, I swear it. Eren never did anything to me, he’s good, I swear it!”

Eren privately wishes that Armin would keep shut. Armin is a smart boy, smarter than Eren could ever hope to be, a genius even. He is a genius, cool and calculating, but right now, he is anything but collected. For him to be this out of sorts, this hysterical, the situation must be terrible Still, right now Armin isn’t doing either of them any good.

“Boy,” Adelaine says slowly, elongating the vowel of the word until one syllable becomes two. “I kept you safe, didn’t I? When your natural father dumped you here with little more than a backwards glance, I took you in, didn’t I? I kept you fed and alive, and that was more than you deserved, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, Mistress,” Eren says. “You kept me safe, even though I was worthless. You were kinder than I deserved.”

“I didn’t ask for much in return,” she continues, as though he hadn’t spoken. “Stay out of the way and keep the house clean. More importantly, look after my little darling, I asked you. Look after Armin.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Eren agrees. “I kept Armin safe. I’ve never done anything but keep him safe best I knew how.”

“Liar!” Adelaine’s hand whips out and slaps him, hard enough that he knows it will bruise. It leaves a stinging burn on his cheek, but he dare not move to soothe the ache. He centers his head again, and bows low. “One of the servants said she saw you put your dirty hands on my boy, like some kind of – some kind of filthy _queer_. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Suddenly, Armin’s panic makes sense. Eren looks from his best friend, the boy he cherishes above all else, to his mother. Her blue eyes, so like Armin’s are filled with rage. Her blonde curls are askew. Her dress settles around her awkwardly, like she’d ripped it or ruined it in her anger.

“No, mom, you have it wrong,” Armin says again. He steps forward, tugging on her hand and beseeching her to listen. “Eren didn’t touch me – he didn’t force me to do anything. I wanted to, mom, it was me.”

Eren’s jaw sets. “Armin is lying,” he says. Adelaine looks at him again, mouth working in a grim line. She pulls her hand out of Armin’s grasp.

“Why would he do that?” she demands.

“He is fond of me, although I do not deserve it,” Eren says readily. “He wants to protect me, even though I have wronged him, and I have wronged my Mistress, and wronged my Master.”

“Tell events true, then,” Adelaine says.

“I have sinned,” he says. “I lusted for another man, for Armin. I prayed and prayed, but I was too ashamed to get the help I needed, to go to you or to the bishop to confess. I fell deeper into my sins.

“My thoughts became more depraved, more perverted. I went mad with my lust, I must have done. Your servant saw it true – I intended to coerce Armin into something he couldn’t have wanted. I wanted to touch him, just once, just once to get the madness from my system. I should’ve known better, but I couldn’t help myself.”

Clumsily, Eren falls to his knees before his mistress. He hangs his head, carefully avoiding looking at Armin. He knows he will see nothing but horror if he looks. Even now, Armin continues to speak, testifying against what Eren said. He continues to protest that Eren had done no wrong, that everything he happened had been consensual.

Still, people believe what they want to hear, and Adelaine wants to hear that he son has done no wrong. Already, Eren can see her eyes softening as she takes in his kowtowed form.

“Stop the lies, Armin,” she says. “Eren has already told the truth. You wish to protect him, but it is already too late.”

Armin opens his mouth to argue again, but for the first time, Eren looks at him properly. There must be something hard in his gaze, because he falls silent at last, biting anxiously on his lip. He must look terrifying, then, for Armin to give up. It’s not a surprise, though. He loves Armin more than the world. He’ll protect Armin from everything, even from himself.

Adelaine takes a step closer and runs a hand through Eren’s hair, greasy and dust-streaked as it is. Eren knows that she’s fond of him. It had been she, after all, that convinced her husband to take him in as a servant even though their family needed no more. She had personally helped him to settle in to his new role, patiently teaching and guiding him in the hard months after he’d been sold.

“It takes a strong person to admit to their sins,” she says. Her voice is still stringent, but gentler now somehow. “You are a sinner, damned in God’s eyes, Eren.”

“I can only beg His forgiveness and yours, my Lady,” he replies.

“It is only to be expected,” Adelaine muses. “You did murder your mother, after all. We knew when we took you in that you were cursed. Still, you have confessed your crimes. You are not above redemption.”

At her words, Eren throws himself prostrate upon the ground, swallowing his pride as his stomach hits the floor. His consternation is sincere, even if his regret is not. He’d wanted nothing more than to protect Armin. Instead, Eren, in all his greed, had ended up causing him only trouble.

“Anything,” Eren agrees. “Anything.”

For a long moment, Adelaine remains silent. Eren stays on the ground, not moving, hardly daring to even breathe. He can hear the hitching gasps of Armin’s ragged breath behind his mother.

“Seventy lashes,” she says abruptly, some time later.

“Mom, _no_ ,” Armin says, horrified.

“Be silent, Armin, or it’ll be twice that,” she shoots back.

Eren breathes deeply through his nose. Adelaine and her husband are good people. They’re kind to their slaves; they begrudge them nothing, be it food or fresh clothes. When their slaves are disciplined, it is usually for good reason and the punishment is lax. Even the most abusive of owners don’t whip their slaves lightly. A punishment such as the one Eren has been granted is used only on the worst behaved; the ones who run steal, or rape, or run away.

Eren breathes deeply through his nose. He remembers the first time he’d been whipped. It had happened the first year he’d been here. He’d pushed another slave that had arrived around the same time as him, Mikasa, down a well. She hadn’t resisted, even though everyone had known she could have. For that, he had received ten lashes, light because he’d been so young. Even so, he remembers screaming in pain, the bright agony.

It was the first time he’d been whipped. Now, over a decade later, he could still say it had been the last time.

“I will take it gladly, if I can redeem myself in the eyes of the Lord,” he says. “Thank you for your kindness, Mistress.”

Adelaine nods to herself, as though confirming her own decision. “Go see Levi. He will do it.” She turns and leaves the room. After a moment of Armin hovering hesitantly and of Eren avoiding his eyes, he too leaves.

There is no use in delaying it. Adelaine will be waiting on him, waiting to see how long it will take him to do as he has been told. The longer he dallies, the more her ire will grow.

He leaves the guest room, grateful that he’d been almost done cleaning before she had arrived. He doesn’t want to leave a room half done when she is already so furious. As he exits the room and travels down to the foyer, he sees the other servants and slaves watching him discreetly as they do their own duties. He knows that by now, the news will have traversed the entire household. Even if the gossip had not already reached them, he is certain that his Mistress’s voice had carried.

They avoid his eyes when he passes them by, busying themselves with their chores. One or two nod at him encouragingly. One of these people had been the one to tell Adelaine in the first place, but Eren finds that he cannot bear any of them ill will. All of the people here are his friends, and he knows it is likely that whoever let it slip did so by accident. They probably hadn’t known that it was a secret in the first place.

He exits and heads for the stables; Levi’s main duty is to care for the horses. That he’s out there means that Levi is one of the only people still unaware of what has taken place.

As he had predicted, Levi is out grooming he horses. He stops moving when he sees Eren approach. “Eren,” he says quietly, and Eren knows that disaster is written all over his face. “You idiot.”

Quietly, Eren explains what happened, how he got caught, and how he shouldered all the blame. Levi remains silent and cold, but Eren knows that underneath that, he understands. Levi, after all, is a sinner of the same type; he just hadn’t been caught. Maybe he wouldn’t have been so lucky if he’d fallen for the son of the household.

“Don’t try to take it easy on me,” Eren says. He lets the straps of his suspenders fall off and shrugs off his shirt. It lands in the ground, amidst the dirt and mud but that is of no consequence. He steps toward a tree, shoving at it to test its strength. It’s sturdy – it will do nicely. He wraps his arms around the tree as if he was hugging it and waits as Levi ties his wrists together. “She’ll know if you do.”

“I won’t,” Levi says.

Eren turns to face forward, exposing his bare back to Levi. He braces himself against the huge trunk, planting his feet as firmly as he can on the marshy ground. His forehead falls forward.

“Don’t tense up,” Levi says. “It’ll make it worse if you tense up. How many did she say?”

Eren briefly considers lying, then dismisses the notion. “Seventy.”

“ _Jesus_.” The word takes him by surprise. Levi, for all the years Eren has known him, has never been a godly man.

“Seventy,” Eren repeats firmly.

He hears a rustling as Levi unwinds the whip at his side, it’s length furling along the grass and dead leaves. “Don’t tense up,” Levi repeats.

Eren takes several deep breaths, forcing his breathing to be even and steady. It’s not easy to remain relaxed, but slowly he manages it. The anticipation is terrible.

The whip snaps through the air, loud and heavy. It lands against the small of his back, scoring open his skin and biting through his flesh. Any thought’s he’d entertained of taking this stoically, silently, are gone; he screams on a sob, tears building up in his eyes and spilling over.

“One,” Levi says distantly.

The whip strikes down again, worse now that he’s tensed up. He screams again and jerks forward as it lands across the first. He’s left ragged on his feet, supported by his bound wrists against the tree. It’s only been two, and already he feels like he can take no more.

The pain doesn’t stop. It doesn’t lessen, and each time he gets close to passing out, the next strike makes him bolt awake once again. It doesn’t get more tolerable as he’s hit more. Rather, each consecutive strike seems impossibly worse than the ones before. He can hear nothing but the ringing in his ears, the snap of the leather, and Levi’s even counting. He screams until even his voice fails him, and all that’s left is choked off gasps as he chokes over his own saliva.

Each time the whip comes down, he arches futilely away from it. His front scrapes against the tree until his chest is full of scrapes that barely register. He thinks of the last time he was like this, back arched, head thrown back, out of his mind. Armin had cornered him and pressed him against a wall, had fucked him open in a hurry, always mindful of watchful eyes.

The pain seems endless. It does eventually stop; all that’s left is the cool air against his open wounds. Eren sags low, ignoring the way his wrist protests. His mouth is bloody from biting his cheeks and tongue. His back is a mess.

Levi appears on the other side of the tree. He studiously concentrates on the rope as he unties Eren’s wrists. When Eren fails to support himself and falls, Levi’s there to catch him and lend his support. His hands skitter awkwardly, trying to avoid the worst of his wounds until his arms end up around his shoulder and under his tailbone.

As they go to head back to the house, he sees Adelaine. He has no recollection of her being there. Eren can’t say if she’d been there from the beginning, or if she had arrived in the middle, or if she had only come when it was over. He feels nauseous at the sight of her, but he doesn’t throw up.

Armin’s not there. That’s fine, though. Eren hadn’t expected him to come – he hadn’t wanted him to come. It was one nothing for Armin to know that he would be whipped and another thing entirely for him to see it. Eren wasn’t afraid to do what it took to make sure he could stand by Armin’s side, but he didn’t want to face the indignity of having been seen, nor see the guilt that Armin would surely feel.

“Very good, Eren,” Adelaine says, her voice motherly and light. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Where shall I take him, Mistress?” Levi asks.

“The servants quarters,” she answers. “Have Krista care for him, and tell her she may have any assistance she requires.”

“Of course.” Levi dips his head subserviently. It’s weird to see humility on him when his features are usually mulishly set into a stubborn grimace. Levi starts to walk, setting them into a slow, meandering pace. He doesn’t complain when Eren’s hardly able to handle that much, just shifts so that he’s holding more of Eren’s weight.

Once inside the house, it doesn’t get much better. The servants’ quarters are several floors above the ground floor. There’s nothing for it but to walk up the steps. They take frequent breaks, but it still takes them far too long. Eren grits his teeth against the pain as he takes step after lumbering step.

Levi helps him into bed, setting him facedown. “I’ll get Krista,” he says. He hurries away. Eren thinks it’s more because he’s eager to get away from him than a need to hurry. It’s probably hard for Levi to see him like this.

As he’d guessed would happen, Krista dashes into the room only a moment later, accompanied by Mikasa. Eren can hardly turn his head to greet them. He feels lethargic and drowsy.

“Mikasa, get me some warm washcloths and the alcohol. Get that salve from Ymir too, the one that she got after she dropped the knife on her foot the other day,” she says. “Also, see if you can find a needle and thread. Some of these look deep. They’ll need stitches.”

Eren can’t see Mikasa from where he lays and he doesn’t have the energy to look up to find her. He can hear rustling behind Krista, presumably her moving around to gather everything that Krista has asked for. Eren can imagine how she looks right now – her face tense, her lips set into a grim line, her eyes wide and worried. Mikasa was good for worrying, always looking out for him and taking care of him when he needed help.

“I’m sorry, Mikasa,” he struggles to say, “I always get myself into trouble, don’t I?”

“Eren,” she says. The word hangs in the air like there’s more to come. Eren waits for her to speak again, but she does not. The sounds of movement start up again until boots step up to the bed and hands everything over Krista. Then, without delay, Mikasa leaves.

“It must be painful for her to see someone she cares about so much in so much pain,” Krista remarks quietly. Eren can think of nothing to say to that. He knows how he would feel if it were her in place of him. He can’t apologize enough for causing her that kind of pain, one so different to his own.

Krista’s hands flutter over his back for a moment, not quite touching him but close enough that he can sense it. It’s obvious that she doesn’t know where to start. Her hands fall away and then return momentarily, this time holding something. She dabs at his back; she’s holding a cloth, bloated with what Eren guesses to be just water.

The water is a relief when he’d been expecting the sting of alcohol. The disturbance on his wounds hurts, but it is not intolerable. Soon, she blots his back dry.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “This is going to hurt, but I don’t want to risk you getting an infection.”

“Just do it,” he mutters. Without speaking, she offers him the hand that’s not occupied with the cloth and Eren wordlessly takes it.

This time when the cloth touches down, the sting is unmistakable. He can’t help but jerk away from the touch, pressing himself down into the bed. She pauses for a moment, but when she comes back, she is determined to do it and get it over with. She presses the alcohol-soaked cloth into his back, harder when he pulls away. She carefully, quickly disinfects the entirety of his back while Eren hisses through his teeth. He knows he must be grinding the bones of her hands painfully, but she doesn’t complain.

“Alright,” she says. “I’m done.”

“With this part,” he grumbles.

“You can’t be that bad if you can complain so loudly about it,” she teases him, but then she becomes serious. “You need stitches.”

“Right, or else I’ll get an infection,” he says. “I heard you say it to Mikasa earlier.”

“I can wait until you’re asleep,” she offers.

“I’ll wake up,” he points out. “Just do it.”

 It’s surprising that, after all he’s endured today, the needle digging into his skin still manages to cause him pain. There’s still the sharp ache of the lacerations on his back, still open, still smarting with the sting on antiseptic. And yet, somehow, the slow pull of skin as Krista stitches his back shut is still poignant on top of that. It’s a different kind of pain to be sure, slow and constant, unrelenting. There’s an easy, calming rhythm to it, the steady tightening of his skin as it’s sewn together. It hurts, but it grounds him against all else that’s happened.

Earlier, he’d been unable to pass out. There is nothing hindering from it now and, as Krista holds him down with a palm against his tailbone, the day slips away from him and his world goes dark.

* * *

He wakes up. He can’t tell how much later it is; he’s not sure if it’s even the same day.

He’s still laying face down on the cot, a hard pillow uncomfortable under his head, his neck hurting from the position. Still, he feels better. Maybe it’s that his wounds are no longer raw and open. More likely, though, it’s the warmth he feels against the side of his body

Sure enough, when he faces the other way to look, ignoring the way the movement pulls at the still tight stitches, Armin is laying next to him. He’s asleep, lying awkwardly slumped over as though he hadn’t intended to fall asleep. There’s no one else in the room when he checks, so it must not be that late.

Eren knows that he’s led a good life, despite having been dealt a hard hand. He’d been sold into slavery, not born into it the way most others were, after his mother’s death. His dad had blamed him for it, claiming that she’d been taken to atone for Eren’s sins. The Arlelts, one of the richest families in sleepy little Shiganshina, had paid taken him in even though he had little to offer them when they already had a house full of competent slaves.

His new masters had had a son, a boy named Armin. Eren was charged with the task of keeping him safe and caring for him; he was to become anything Armin needed him to be – whipping boy, friend, confidant. And Armin was such a beautiful, determined boy, so sound of mind where he hadn’t been in body.

Eren took to the job quickly and without trouble. Eren knew that they were different, of course – he wasn’t ignorant of the fact that while he spent his free time scrubbing floors, Armin met with the finest of tutors; that when Eren was busy mucking out stables, Armin was being fit for yet another fancy outfit for another fancy event. Yet, Eren did not begrudge Armin his advantage, because if anyone deserved privilege, it was Armin.

They’d grown together, matured and aged together. Armin went to Eren the first time he woke up hard, the two of them confused and panicked together. Armin was the first to know when Eren lost his first kiss to another slave girl in an accident involving spilled oil, two goblets, and a convenient floor. When Armin realized that he was more attracted to other lords than to their daughters, it was to Eren that he fearfully confessed.

The transition from friends to brothers to lovers had been an easy one, and Eren never once questioned or regretted it.

“Armin,” he whispers, giving the boy’s shoulders a light shake. Armin startles awake – he’d always been a light sleeper. He looks around drowsily before finding Eren’s gaze in the dark. For a moment, a small smile begins to curl up his face. Eren can pinpoint the moment he realizes where they are and why they’re there; he can see the moment when Armin remembers all that’s happened in the past few hours.

“You goddamned fool,” Armin says, shaking. His hands raise like he wants to punch Eren, but then he thinks better of it. The blow lands with a cushioned thud on the mattress instead. “You reckless _idiot_.”

“Now,” Eren says, voice weak. “There’s no need for names.”

“If you weren’t already injured, I’d take you apart right now.”

“I’ve never said no to that so far, have I?” Eren asks.

Armin scowls at the attempted joke. His voice cracks and breaks the next time he speaks. “How could you do that to yourself?” he asks. “What am I supposed to do, when I know you did that to protect me?”

Armin finds the first of many scars on his back. Someone else’s touch helps Eren to visualize what his back must look like; he feels the way Armin’s fingers bump over the furled ridges of the thread and puckered edges where skin is drawn into skin. He can picture the way his flesh twists and gathers awkwardly now, can imagine the scars that will be left behind and probably never go away.

Armin is the first one that hasn’t hesitated to touch him all day. Maybe it’s because his skin is no longer torn open. Either way, it’s like a breath of cool sweet wind after a day of humidity and heat in the fields.

“I’m selfish,” Eren admits. “You know I am. I couldn’t – I couldn’t do nothing. If she believed you, she would’ve sent me away, or sent you away. I can’t do that, Armin, I can’t go and I can’t leave you. It was this or that.” He lets Armin map out the expanse of his back before catching his hands and holding them within his own.

“I hate you,” Armin tells him.

“I love you,” Eren answers back, feeling anxious and needy. It’s weakness that drives him – this weakness he feels in his chest and his breath whenever he looks at Armin; the weakness that drives him to self-sacrifice and regard someone else’s life over his own; the weakness that makes his body seize when Armin’s forced to accompany and court some high-class girl.

He’d only had half-formed ideas of how to pursue another guy. He’d been able to deduce what went in what hole and the logistics of making their respective parts fit together. He hadn’t anticipated the heady feeling of kneeling at Armin’s feet and taking his dick deep into his mouth; he hadn’t expected to ever be the one bent over and licked open.

It makes him feel weak, but Armin’s kisses makes his head spin like he’s drunk a flagon of the expensive wine he’s expected to serve guests. Armin’s touch makes his body ache and burn good. And even without the sex and the lust, Armin’s presence makes him want to lie down and cuddle and talk. He’s never been a smart boy, Eren has, but when Armin’s there next to him, he feels like he could spout poetry and flowered words to rival Dickens and the Bard and Hawthorne, and all the others that rival for Armin’s attention.

Armin’s always been dependent on him to fight his battles, to care for him when he’s ill and his parents are too busy to do it, to watch out for his various and numerous allergies. And yet, Eren knows that it’s he who needs Armin. He needs him so much that he had been willing to lie and get whipped bloody for his trouble.

“Do you think you can lie on your back yet?” Armin asks him, gentle.

Eren’s not sure, so he lifts himself up and tries in lieu of a response. It’s not comfortable, and he knows it won’t be for a long while. There is a flare of pain, but it’s ignorable. He looks at Armin expectantly.

“Good,” Armin says, “because I want you inside of me.”

There’s no real buildup. There’s rarely time for them to take it slow, not when they’re on the constant lookout whenever they’re together, ever aware that soon enough one of them will be missed and sought out. They have even less time now. The other servants are meant to be sleeping, but any of them could wake up at any minute.

Despite the lack of a buildup, the knowledge that they’ll have even less time for this in the future with Adelaine now on vigilant lookout is enough to bring the desire coursing. Eren’s fingers roughly pull at Armin’s clothes until his bottom half is naked and in his lap. His fingers squeeze dark bruises into Armin’s hips and ass.

Prep this time is minimal. Eren fingers him roughly, his fingers slick from drying spit and nothing else. It can’t be very comfortable, but Eren keeps his other hand pumping at Armin’s cock, twisting his hand around the head and rubbing the precome into his skin.

“I’m ready,” Armin pants.

“You can’t be,” he answers, because he knows what it’s like to be taken when Armin’s too eager and his body isn’t ready.

“I don’t care. I want to feel it inside me.”

There’s honestly no way Eren can argue when Armin says it like that. Despite his apprehensions, he gives in embarrassingly fast. He helps support Armin as he raises up. Then, Armin sinks down onto his dick slowly, hissing a whining keen under his breath all the while. It’s so tight, so hot. Eren knows that Armin hadn’t been even close to ready. Somehow, Armin pulls himself right back up and drops down almost instantly. His voice is contorted somewhere between pain and ecstasy – as though he had looked upon the face of angel and saw burning beauty.

The stress of the day has their tensions high. Armin murmurs soft words into Eren’s ears as their pace rapidly devolves into sloppy thrusts. They keep their voices down, but forget to be mindful of the noise of their wet kisses and skin against skin. Armin moans into Eren’s lips, working himself hard on Eren’s cock and Eren wishes he had the strength to flip him over and fuck him down into the bed. He doesn’t, though, not with his back still so raw. Instead, he just twists his wrist and smears his thumb into Armin’s slit in an effort to get Armin to come before him.

It works. Soon, Armin’s jerking against him and coming in splatters against the shirts that neither of them had bothered to take off. Eren will have to take them to be cleaned in the morning before anyone spots the stains, he notes.

Armin rides out his orgasm with a few more lethargic thrusts before he winces, too sensitive, and comes off properly. He kneels down and sucks Eren’s dick into his mouth, swallowing around his length, once, twice, thrice. It’s all Eren needs to get off. He shoves his hands into Armin’s sleep-mussed hair and thrusts erratically as he comes down the back of Armin’s throat. Armin takes it nicely, doesn’t protest and doesn’t gag. He can’t manage to swallow it all. Eren doesn’t hesitate to kiss the rest of his own come off of Armin’s mouth and chin.

After, they collapse into the bed, Eren once more laying on his stomach and Armin tucked into him. Their shared body heat keeps them warm, but they are cold with the knowledge that Armin will have to wake early to sneak back onto his own room before anyone notices he isn’t there.

“I will take you away from here.” Armin murmurs the promise into Eren’s body. “I’ll take you up north, where no person will ask any questions.

“No you won’t,” Eren says sleepily. “That will never work. Your parents won’t allow it.”

“They can’t stop me. I’m their only child – they can’t do anything to me while I’m still their only heir. And once I’m Master of the house, it’ll be different.”

Eren murmurs noncommittally. The fantasy sounds wonderful: having Armin all to himself whenever he wants with no repercussions. It sounds beautiful, but it’s a dream. He falls back asleep to the phantom aches of the whip slicing across his back, and he dreams of their future.

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by that new movie _12 years a slave_. it was painful and depressing and it hurt right where i needed it. the plot of this fic sort of got away from me the longer it got, but i think overall i'm pleased with it.


End file.
